For Christmas my boss gave me a copy of
the book he’s been reading, “Crossing the Unknown Sea: Work as a Pilgrimage of
Identity.” I feel it both ironic and mildly amusing that the book now sits on
my nightstand next to one I’ve been reading, “When Work Doesn’t Work Anymore:
Women, Work and Identity.”

Work and identity—for me an almost
impossible puzzle to figure out. You see, I started working at age 14 and my
job soon became a place of refuge. At my job, I could be a superstar. I was noticed.
I was valuable. While flipping burgers, I could ignore that my family was
disintegrating. When my parents told me they were getting divorced (in the end,
they didn’t), I didn’t need to deal with it because I had to go to work—those
biscuits weren’t going to bake themselves.

My high school fast food job turned
into three jobs and a full course load in college followed by a career with new
responsibilities and promotions. The needy overachiever in me flourished—until she
cracked.

Two years ago, I spent New Year’s Day
in a panic, sobbing over the thought of returning to work after a week’s
vacation. I was burned out, I hated my job, I had lost my passion and I felt
trapped as our family’s breadwinner while my husband finished his last year of
grad school.

The year that started out bad got
worse, but then it got better. A new CEO was hired, my boss left and my hope
returned upon having multiple conversations with the CEO about what my role in
the organization should be. He was offering me the opportunity to change things. I just needed the courage to do so. So last
December, for the first time in my life, I not only identified what I wanted
but I asked for it, too. It was terrifying and liberating—and it worked.

I began this year no
longer running a department and no longer running around like a miserable chicken with its head cut
off. It should have been awesome except for one thing.

Suddenly, I wasn’t the one in charge. My
former employees weren’t turning to me for answers. I wasn’t consulted on
important decisions. I didn’t feel valuable. I had to face the harsh reality
that how I valued myself was completely defined by my job and how
many rings I could juggle in my personal circus.

Is it any wonder I developed a mild
addiction to the online game Castleville? Complete a quest, win prizes, instant
validation as a human being! My virtual imaginary world offered endless possibilities to shine! After six months (I'm a slow learner sometimes), I finally had to quit the game cold turkey and just deal with my
emotions instead.

Over the last 12 months, I’ve spent a
lot of time thinking about work and identity. I’ve analyzed why work became my
identity. I’ve considered what I truly want out of work. I’ve dealt with conflicting
feelings as I tried to create more balance in my life. It is an understatement
to say that the process has been uncomfortable—it’s been more like
an emotionally lobotomy. Yet it's also been enlightening.

I know a number of career-driven women
who having reached their mid-30s are re-evaluating their relationships with
work. I also know women like my mother who will soon be 60 who are also
re-evaluating.

When we are just starting out, we take what
we can get. At this stage of life, though, we question whether what we were handed is
what we actually wanted, and if what we once wanted is what we still want or
need. Like any good partnership, our relationships with work must change as we grow and evolve.

I plan to read both books sitting on my
nightstand. I have decades more to work and a lot more to sort through. What I’ve learned so far, though, is that
the power dynamic in our relationship had to change. Work will always be a part
of who I am, but it no longer controls all of me.

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About me

I’m a 40-year-old woman with a darling young daughter, a long-term marriage and an established career. To onlookers, I have it all together. But in rare moments when I'm solo in the car and a throwback song comes on the radio, I sometimes have an overwhelming urge to drink myself silly, dance my ass off and make-out with strangers.
Read more...I’m not that young or foolish any more, but I also don’t feel old (despite increasing wrinkles). I am caught somewhere between young and old and I’m not the only one. This blog is for those of us who are still dancing queens yet, rather than yearning for the good old days, are wise enough to recognize that this crazy, in-between, complex time in our lives is life’s sweet spot.
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